Another Mile of Silence
by Politzania
Summary: The Asset had failed its mission. The target was not eliminated. The target was ... Steve. You fought him, but he didn't want to fight you. He fell ... and you dove after him. You saved him, after you damn near killed him.
1. Chapter 1

The Asset had failed. The target was not eliminated. The target was ...

 _Steve. You fought him, but he didn't want to fight you. He fell ... and you dove after him. You saved him, after you damn near killed him._

The Asset was damaged. The Asset retreated to a safe house and performed self-repair of the flesh and metal components of the body.

 _Why does your left arm feel so heavy, like it's fallen asleep? Holy hell - it's metal. What the fuck happened to your arm?_

The Asset refueled and rehydrated; necessary after repair. The Asset slept.

 _You had nightmares. Falling from the train. Falling from the flying ship. Saving Steve. Not saving Steve. Fighting and killing. Fighting and dying. Darkness and silence and bone-deep cold._

* * *

It had been more than a little surreal - meeting Fury at the man's own gravesite. Steve hadn't had the courage to visit the Commandos memorial out at Arlington, not even after placing a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. He knew whose name was also on that monument, even though he wasn't buried there either. Turns out, Bucky wasn't even dead.

"You doing alright, Steve? It's getting pretty late..." He heard Sam's voice from the darkness beyond the reading light. The dossier from Natasha was open on the coffee table in front of him. He could only read a little at a time, but he was determined to make it all the way through.

"I just want to finish this." He'd managed to keep his voice steady, and was glad Sam was behind him, couldn't see his face.

"Let me know if you want to talk about it. No - make that **when** you want to talk about it." And that was Sam as Counselor. Sympathetic but firm. Always willing to listen, but impatient with evasions and lies. They would talk, just not right now.

"Okay.. thanks."

* * *

There was a voice in the head of the Asset now. Sometimes it talked to the Asset. Sometimes it just talked.

 _So, it's always been like that, for you. No memories, only missions and orders. Skills and information poured into your head, then purged once the purpose was served. That's no way to live._

The Asset had standing orders to return to base in case of mission failure. Now that the Asset had healed, it was time to report.

 _You are a fugitive - you can't walk out of here looking like that - not with that goddamn shiny metal arm._

The Asset obeyed the implied order and found a jacket and gloves to disguise the arm, and a baseball cap to cover the hair and shield the face.

 _That's better, punk._

The Asset walked from the safe house to the financial district. The voice spoke in a wondering, uncertain tone.

 _Everything looks so different... the cars, the buildings, the people. Sure as hell ain't Kansas anymore, Toto. Where is this, anyways?_

The Asset replied aloud in a hoarse whisper. "Washington DC."

 _Huh... so you can talk. And you sound familiar... looked familiar too, there in the mirror._

The Asset discovered that the base had been compromised; surrounded by enemies. Additional intel was needed. The Asset would contact the Mission Head. It was not protocol, but it was necessary.

* * *

Steve still had contacts in the law enforcement community, and so when the FBI investigated what turned out to be a key HYDRA stronghold right in the center of the city, he was in on the initial raid. What they discovered in the bank vault made Steve ill, especially combined with the information in the dossier.

To think those monsters had been right here, under their noses. That they had tortured Bucky with that terrible chair, turning him into a killing machine. Steve had nearly torn the place to pieces with his bare hands. Only Sam holding him back, saying that they could probably reverse engineer the equipment and maybe help Bucky, had stopped him.

It wasn't clear how Pierce had been involved, but surely he had been. He'd had his dirty little fingers in everything else, and was just the kind of bastard to take a personal interest in a project like Winter Soldier. The news said that a body had been discovered at Pierce's house; his housekeeper, shot twice nearly point-blank. The police had the place on lockdown until federal authorities could perform a full search.

* * *

The home of the Mission Head was also compromised. Local law enforcement had stationed sentries, but the Asset would have no difficulty killing them.

 _No, you are not killing anybody. Not unless they're trying to kill you first. You claim to be an expert in espionage - so prove it. Sneak in, punk._

The voice had supplied an order. Orders gave purpose, provided focus. The Asset easily evaded the sentries, gaining access to the house.

 _Ain't this a high class place - surprised the likes of you were ever allowed in._

The Asset saw the bloodstain on the floor, from where the Mission Head had neutralized the potential threat.

 _She wasn't a threat, she was his goddamned housekeeper. And he was a fucking cold-blooded bastard. You shoulda shot him when you had the chance._

Harming the Mission Head was not permitted. Harming allies was not permitted.

 _And now harming anybody is not permitted, you got it? Unless they start somethin'. Even then, try not to kill 'em, okay?_

"Standing order?" the Asset questioned. The Asset was accustomed to speaking whatever language the support team understood, and the voice's English was curiously accented and slang-filled, unlike the Mission Head and Team Lead.

 _Yes. Standing order... jeez. So, why did you come here?_

"The base was compromised. The Mission Head will provide new orders; a new mission."

 _If Mr. Mission Head has the brains God gave a goose, he won't be coming back here any time soon. Any other bright ideas?_

The Asset didn't have ideas. The Asset took orders, completed missions. Problem solving was only permitted within the scope of a mission.

 _Fine. Your mission is ... hell... I dunno. Return to the safe house for now. Without killing anybody._

* * *

Steve had finally talked to Sam about the dossier. To Sam's credit, he didn't say he understood. Riley hadn't saved Sam's skin a thousand times as they grew up together. Riley hadn't been drafted while Sam tried anything and everything to go with him, go in his place. But Riley had become Sam's brother in arms, and he felt the loss of that brother every day. So maybe he did understand a little.

After all, it was Sam's job to talk with combat veterans, helping them make their way back into the world. Steve had joined his friend at the VA center, sitting in on a couple of group therapy sessions. He learned it wasn't called shell shock anymore, and it wasn't something to be ashamed of. All too many men had come back home carrying more than just physical scars, and they deserved proper care for them as well.

And it wasn't just men. Steve was still trying to get his mind around that; despite Peggy providing a shining example of how well the fairer sex could perform in the field. The women he met at the VA were tough, and resilient and he would have been proud to have had any of them at his side in the thick of a fight. However, he didn't care for Sam trying to set him up on a date with them.

"C'mon Sam, I didn't have women figured out back in the 1940's, much less now!"

"You're not calling them 'dames' anymore, that's progress." Sam gently teased.

"Just give me a little more time to get settled into this century. You've seen the size of my list - heck, you keep adding on to it!"

"Just taking care of my boy. Hey, have you tried bibimbap yet? Korean leftovers with rice; you'll love it."

* * *

The Asset had determined the safe house was no longer safe. Another location in the city was selected. The quickest way to get there involved traveling on the subway. The subway is a non-preferred mode of transportation - it is too constricted. No escape routes.

 _Fine - if you wanna walk, walk. But grab something to eat, first. You're starving._

The Asset was not starving. The Asset had gone without food for much longer than this. Hunger was irrelevant to the mission until function was impacted.

 _There's a shitload of cash in the bugout bag you're carrying - just buy a goddamn hotdog already!_

The Asset bought a goddamn hotdog. And a soda. The Asset wanted something sweet.

 _Don't look now punk, but you're developing preferences. About damn time._

The Asset didn't know how to process that comment. The voice complained that the Coke didn't taste right, and continued a running commentary on the surroundings. The Asset had tuned the voice out until it let out a strangled curse.

 _Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... look at that..._

The Asset focused in on the large graphics on the side of the bus. There was a photo of the Target, and text. "Captain America: The Legend and the Legacy. Now at the National Air and Space Museum."

 _You gotta go there. You gotta learn about Steve. Gotta find out what happened. Do you know where the Museum is?_

The voice sounded... emotional. The Asset reviewed the mental map of the city from the briefing. "Yes". And it wasn't far.

* * *

The horrors of the bank vault had spurred Steve to action. He'd sat around licking his wounds long enough. "Sam - I have to find Bucky. I don't know how... but I have to."

Sam, ever the voice of reason, tried to talk him out of it, at least at first. But when he saw how serious Steve was, he finally gave in. He steered his friend over to the corner of the living room where the computer was set up, and held out a flash drive.

"Natasha left this for you. Said if you were bound and determined to go ghost hunting, this might give you a leg up. It's some sort of search program designed to locate info in the SHIELD and HYDRA files about the Winter Soldier."

Steve winced at the codename. He was Bucky; he'd always be Bucky to Steve. He took the bit of plastic and metal, then had to ask Sam what to do with it, as he was still learning his way around 21st century technology. While they waited for the program to run, they went over what they knew so far, and started putting together plans.

* * *

The Asset saw the metal detectors at the entrance to the museum. "What is the priority of this mission?"

 _Huh? Um - pretty damn high, punk._

"Priority override of standing orders?"

 _What? Oh - oh no. No hurting or killing anybody. Damn. There's gotta be another way in._

The Asset scouted the perimeter of the building, making note of the loading dock. Conveniently, a catering truck had just pulled up. The Asset watched the driver interact with the guard, waiting until both their backs were turned. The Asset grabbed a box from the the truck and quickly ducked under the roller door.

"Hey buddy - where do ya want these?" The Asset imitated the voice's accent and cadence. The second guard grunted and pointed down the hallway. "Main Kitchen - second door on the left".

 _Heh - you'd fit right in on the docks Nice job._

The Asset walked down the hallway, glancing back at the second guard. Once he looked away, the Asset put the box down, and looked up and down the hallway for entry into the museum. The Asset located the proper door and passed through.

There were too many people in this enclosed space. The Asset scanned for exits, escape routes while the heart beat faster and the breathing rate increased.

 _Calm down already. You're okay. It's fine - no one's gunning for you. It's just tourists. Focus - look for a sign for the exhibit._

The Asset accepted the order. The voice remained surprisingly silent as the Asset reviewed the intel on display in the exhibit. The Target was identified as Captain Steven Grant Rogers, alias "Captain America." During World War II, he was Mission Head of a team called the Howling Commandos. He had been lost on a mission; frozen in ice for seventy years. He was discovered and revived, and was involved in something called The Battle of New York, working with another team, this time called The Avengers.

 _Good to know he's got someone watching his back again - Steve was always one to jump in with both feet, never mind the cost._

The Asset stopped in front of a sheet of etched glass. The image on the glass resembled the face the Asset has seen in the mirror. The face the voice said was familiar.

The Asset read the caption aloud. "James Buchanan Barnes."

 _James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. That's... you. Hell if I know how, but that is_ _ **you**_ _. And ... me too._


	2. Chapter 2

The Asset stayed in the exhibit until the Museum closed, reading every scrap of text, examining each artifact minutely. The voice was of assistance, filling in some details beyond what was written down. In the dark room where a film loop played, the Asset spoke to the voice. "What... who are you?"

" _I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you Nobody too? Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!_ _They'd_ _banish us, you know."_

 _Sorry - don't imagine Emily Dickinson appeared in any of your mission briefings. Or Jiminy Cricket, tho he fits even better. I guess I'm what your bosses kept trying to get rid of, like a bad penny._

"You knew him, from before. You caused the mission to fail."

 _Damn right I did - couldn't have you offing my best friend. Hell of a thing - him 'n me both ending up here after so much time. Do you think he survived, after you dragged him out of the river?_

The Asset was unsure if an answer was required. The voice often asked questions it did not expect answers to. "Captain America is a public figure - his death would be reported in various news outlets."

 _Not much for tact, are ya? Let's grab some newspapers and see what the hell is going on in the world. Then maybe we can make some plans._

The Asset liked the sound of "we". It implied personhood, versus being a piece of equipment to be used then set aside until the next mission. The voice treated the Asset as a teammate. And team mates cooperated, contributed towards achieving common goals.

 _Yeah, I got your back, punk. Let's blow this joint before people start looking at you funny for talking to yourself._

* * *

Steve had called ahead, and the staff said Peggy was having a good day. He hoped that would make this visit a little easier, though he'd still have to play things by ear.

Once the pleasantries were out of the way, he finally asked, "Peggy - what can you tell me about the Winter Soldier?"

She gave Steve a rueful smile. "There's a name I never expected to hear again. We all thought the Soldier was a ghost story for so long. In the mid 1980's, a diligent junior SHIELD agent by the name of Coulson collated all the reports and rumors to give us the big picture. It seems the Soldier's first appearance was in the early 1950's. He appears to have been under the control of a Soviet division of HYDRA, but may have been loaned out, so to speak, to other organizations over the years.

"A gifted sniper with strong hand-to-hand combat abilities,the Soldier was credited with dozens of assassinations, as well as acts of sabotage and various espionage activities. The few survivors of encounters with him described him as an automaton, implacable and ruthless. We discovered much too late that Arnim Zola was instrumental in developing not only the equipment, but also the techniques and pharmacologies used to create and control the Soldier. Stark suspected Zola stole his preliminary designs for the artificial arm and made his own vile improvements on it over the years.

Steve recalled the crude lab at Krausberg, as well as the computerized Zola-thing he and Natasha discovered in the underground bunker at Camp Lehigh and shuddered. "Do we know who he really is, the man they turned into the Soldier?" If anyone at SHIELD had known, it would be Peggy, and he had to trust that she would tell him the truth.

"It's difficult to believe it was just one man, Steve. The last appearance of the Soldier I am aware of was a few years after I retired from SHIELD. 2009 in Odessa - I believe one of your new friends was guarding his target and nearly lost her life as well. That's a span of nearly sixty years."

"Our best guess was that the Soldier was the male equivalent of the Black Widow program - children raised from near-birth to be ruthless assassins. There must have been at least two generations of them, with perhaps multiple Soldiers active at a single time. Some speculated that the metal arm was a final test of their loyalty. There's so much we just didn't - and I suppose still don't know."

So SHIELD had never discovered the true identity of the Soldier. He felt relieved that at least they hadn't been keeping that secret from him.

"Do I want to know why you're asking, Steve? Does it have something to do with the attack on the Triskelion?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Probably not, and yes." He didn't think he could lie to her face, but the less he said to start with, the better.

"You're going to run off and do something daft, aren't you? I remember that look, Captain Rogers." Her light tone belied the concern in her eyes.

"Afraid so, Peg. But I've got someone watching my back. Sam .. Sam Wilson - I brought him by to meet you last time I visited."

She nodded. "Yes, he seems a capable young man. You've always been at your best with a partner by your side." A distant look suddenly crossed the old woman's face. After a few moments, she said, "Tell Sergeant Barnes I said hello, and to try to stay out of trouble."

Steve nearly choked, covering his reaction with a cough. He couldn't tell if she had confused Sam with Bucky, or if she was a mindreader. Either was equally possible, at this point.

"I will, Peggy. I will."

* * *

The Asset entered the small branch library and sat down in front of one of the computers to search for news articles related to Captain America.

 _So, what is all this Buck Rogers stuff? I thought we were going to check the papers..._

The Asset murmured a reply, "These are computers that access the Internet - a vast collection of information, observations, news, opinions and lies. "

 _Sounds like the Lost City of Pnakotus - but a lot easier to get to. Never mind, I'll introduce you to Lovecraft later. Any luck?_

The Asset had located a website that featured grainy photos from a few days previous of a tall, blond, familiar-looking figure leaving a local hospital accompanied by a red-haired woman and a slim, dark man. The Asset recognized them as the Target and the hostiles encountered on the overpass.

 _His name is Steve... he's not "the Target" for crissake. I don't suppose that internet thing mentions the names of the other two, or anything that would give us a heads-up on where they went?_

"Negative." The Asset did not wish to disappoint the voice, but was unable to locate further information on the current location of the Tar.. Steve.

 _Speaking of names, it's about time we work on that. Since neither of us seem to be going anywhere anytime soon - let's split the difference - I'll be James and you be Barnes, okay? We'll save that god-awful middle name for a fake ID or something. And don't worry about disappointing me, you're doing a hell of a job, all things considered._

The Asset...no... Barnes was not used to compliments. It felt good. As did having James as a companion.

 _Aw, you're making me blush! Let's head back to the house and call it a day. When's the last time we showered, anyways? I suspect we reek, based on the looks we've been getting from the other folks around here._

They walked back to the safe house (eating a few more goddamn hot dogs along the way) but as soon as Barnes turned on the shower, he was engulfed in a memory of icy water jetting from hoses, rough brushes scratching skin and the harsh smell of disinfectant.

 _Whoa, whoa - it's okay, buddy, it's okay. They're not here anymore - they can't hurt you. It's just you and me. Take a couple of deep breaths. How about a bath? Think you can handle a bath?_

Barnes agreed to a bath. The warm water was soothing to tired muscles, healing wounds and fading bruises. James was appalled by the amount of filth that sluiced off, and insisted in draining and refilling the bath with fresh water after the first round of scrubbing.

 _Reminds me of coming back to camp after weeks in the field. At least we ain't got lice or fleas. I'm beat. Let's turn in._

There were no nightmares for either of them that night.

* * *

Barnes and James kept busy over the next couple weeks. Barnes had created a list of HYDRA locations, mainly supply caches, but also potential targets. One cache had the makings for a fake ID; James suggested "Grant Buchanan", with a birthdate of March 10, 1984. There was money for a laptop and smartphone, with enough left over to travel on for awhile. They both decided that it was time to get some revenge on their former tormentors.

James suspected the car Barnes bought off of Craig-somebody was hot, but HYDRA didn't pick its secret bases based on access to public transportation. The first raid went almost too well; there were no personnel on on site, so blowing the place to kingdom come was easy enough and very satisfying. The second raid ... well ... the less said about that, the better.

 _Thank God for enhanced healing abilities. Still hurts like a son of a bitch, though._

Barnes agreed, as they holed up in a cheap motel to rethink their plans. While they'd done damage to the base, and swiped additional supplies to boot, they couldn't afford to make mistakes like that again.

 _How'd you go it alone for all those missions and not get your ass shot off, anyways? Not that you're not incredibly skilled and all, but jeez..._

"Usually had a team to assist in insertion and provide backup. Solo missions were scarcer than you'd think - and usually involved sniper work." After some careful research, they selected another target that was on their way back to Washington DC.

But apparently someone else had gotten there first, as the place exploded in flames just as they came over the top of the hill.

* * *

Sam high-fived Steve as they surveyed the results of their catastrophic handiwork. Their first raid on a HYDRA base had gone surprisingly well. It looked to have been abandoned for some time, but there were still some pieces of equipment laying around that neither of them wanted to fall into the wrong hands. Nothing quite as elaborate as what Steve had seen in the bank vault, but definitely along the same lines.

They sent the photos of the equipment to Stark, hoping he wouldn't be too upset that the actual items were now in tiny bits, scattered across the tri-state area. Sam took off to do one last aerial scan before they headed back to civilization.

"Heads up, Cap. There's a car coming over the hill off to your right. Probably a local yokel checking out the big boom, but be careful." Steve could hear the wind rushing through Sam's wings over the comm.

"You too - I think it's duck hunting season around here." He meant it as a joke, but still... Steve reached for his binoculars as he ducked behind a nearby bush. He saw the car come to a stop, and a figure got out and stared at the burning buildings. Steve couldn't get a good look at the man's face, but even from a distance, his body language read as a combination of confusion, disappointment and anger. Not what you'd expect from an average lookie-loo.

"Sam - I don't think this guy is from around here. Let me see if I can get behind the car and check the plates." He started moving through the grass in a semi-circle, using all available cover. It wasn't enough. After a brief moment where he had taken his eyes off the other man to check his footing over the uneven ground, Steve looked up to see a rifle pointed right at him.

* * *

 _For god's sake, don't shoot - it's Steve!_

The Soldier released the trigger, but kept the weapon focused. The Target was in his sights. It was an unexpected development, but he could finally complete the mission. But a voice, perhaps the Team Lead or Mission Head, was telling him not to shoot. Conflicting orders gave him pause. And then he was being fired on from above.

Stunned, Barnes ducked back into the car, tossing the rifle on the passenger seat while starting the engine, throwing it into reverse and stomping on the gas. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a red stripe down the length of his arm, a bullet graze.

 _What was that damn fool doing way in the hell out here? And was that his flying pal who shot at us?_

Barnes assumed James was asking rhetorical questions again, and focused on getting out of the range of fire and back somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from Steve, for his own sake, and theirs.

* * *

"Steve! Are you okay? Report!"

"Yeah, Sam. I'm fine - the guy didn't get off a shot. In fact, he seemed about to put the gun down, right before you started shooting at him." Steve was shaken, not so much by having the rifle aimed at him (note to self: never leave the shield behind ever again!), but by who had been wielding the rifle. "Sam, I think that was Bucky."

"Really?" Sam's reply was carefully noncommittal. Once he landed, he walked up to his friend, putting a hand on his arm. "Could you maybe have been seeing what you wanted to see?"

"I'd know him anywhere, Sam. And it's not so much of a stretch to think that he might be out here, trying to get some revenge on the people who stole his life from him, is it? And that he had no idea it was me, at least at first? " Steve found himself speaking more forcefully than he'd intended.

"Fair enough. Now, how about we get the hell out of here ourselves?"

But instead of heading back to DC, Steve talked Sam into another raid. This location was not deserted; however, there was evidence of a recent firefight and the remaining personnel seemed stunned. The duo focused on disarming and disabling their foes, with the intent of contacting the authorities once the situation was under control.

One of the last thugs they encountered seemed a little unhinged; Sam heard him muttering under his breath "He does exist - the Winter Soldier - I thought he was a tale for the new recruits... something to scare us. He's turned against HYDRA, he swore to rain hellfire down on us..." Sam quickly gagged the man before Steve could hear his babbling. Son of a bitch - Rogers was right. That was Barnes back there, and apparently he was on their side now.


	3. Chapter 3

James was uncharacteristically silent for most of their drive back to the cheap hotel. "You still in there?" Barnes asked.

 _We almost killed him. Again. The Soldier just... took over, didn't he?_

"Not quite. He heard you tell him not to shoot. I could feel his confusion over conflicting orders, couldn't you?"

 _To be honest, I was too damned scared to notice. It's crowded enough in here with the two of us... we really don't need that guy around, on top of it. Any ideas?_

"Let's do some research once we get back." They read about desensitization techniques used in therapy to deal with phobias, and hoped they would apply for their situation. They spent the next several days watching every video they could find of Captain America. Steve Rogers was more elusive; apparently he kept his private life private.

 _So, how in the hell do we test to see if this exposure therapy is working?_

"Good question. I've set up a Google Alert for both Steve and the Captain, so if he pops up around the city, maybe we can do some covert surveillance."

 _I knew I kept you around for some reason or another, buddy. Add "Peggy Carter" to that alert list, wouldja?_

* * *

On his return to DC, Steve discovered that Peggy had come down with pneumonia and her health was quickly failing. Instead of good days, the best they could hope for was a few good hours at a time. He spent as much time with her as possible, trying desperately to make up for the decades he had missed.

He told her the true identity of the Winter Soldier, and she cried, vowing that if they had known, SHIELD would have moved heaven and earth to rescue the Sergeant. On another, happier day, Peggy shared a little story. "You know, Steve... James pulled me aside once and said "Agent Carter, you know I'd never hit a lady, but if you break Stevie's heart, you ain't no lady." Steve laughed - yeah, that sounded just like Bucky.

Peggy continued. "I told him not to worry, that I would take good care of you, if I had the chance. I do believe he was a bit jealous, Steve. He was afraid I was going to take you away from him."

Steve shook his head. They would have found a way; maybe living side by side in Levittown, or sharing a rowhouse near Coffey Park. He couldn't have imagined a world that didn't have Bucky in it. Which was why putting the Valkyrie in the the ocean hadn't been so difficult, though he would never tell Peggy that.

"Don't let him go again, Steve. You mean too much to him, even if he might not know it right now."

The entire team came to town for Peggy's funeral, courtesy of Stark's private jets. Even Pepper, Jane and Maria made the effort, and Steve appreciated it. He considered them the closest thing to family he had now. They all stood outside, in a brilliant autumn afternoon, waiting for the procession to the cemetery to start. Steve suddenly had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. He quickly scanned the area, and thought he caught a flash of movement in the landscaping on the edge of the parking lot, but then it was gone.

* * *

"Oh no... Peggy's passed." They read the online obituary with heavy hearts. She'd gone on to have quite the full life, after the war. She'd been married, with two children, and still managed to have a distinguished career at SHIELD. James wasn't surprised; that gal had more spirit than many of the men he'd served with. She'd as good as been a member of the Howling Commandos; not only could she fight with the best of them, but drink, gamble and swear in several languages as well.

 _Here's our chance... Steve will definitely be at the services. Time to see if that therapy did us any good._

They erred on the side of caution, finding a spot in the bushes on the edge of the funeral home's parking lot. It was difficult at first to spot any one person in the large crowd of attendees. It seemed the entire agency had come out to pay their respects to one of the co-founders of their organization. Barnes was mildly annoyed that there wasn't better security; if he'd been in charge, he wouldn't have been able to hang around this close.

 _There he is..._

Steve had exited the building, surrounded by his new teammates. They recognized the flying man, and the redhead from their previous encounters, and the others from photographs.

James found himself lost in newly-recovered memories for a moment, just long enough to feel the Soldier suddenly appear and take control. The Target had been reacquired. Weaponry was limited. Strategy: isolate from allies, then engage in hand to hand combat. Allies... hadn't the Target once been an ally?

Taking advantage of the Soldier's momentary loss of focus, Barnes stabbed a knife into his own thigh. The sudden pain let them push the Soldier back under before fleeing into the surrounding cityscape.

* * *

Now that Peggy was gone Steve had no real ties to DC. He couldn't bear to stay at his apartment. The bullet holes in the wall might be patched, but the memories were still raw. His whole world had turned upside down ... again... starting right there in the living room. He needed to figure out what was next, and New York City seemed as good a place as any to start.

He also held out hope that someday, he would be able to bring Bucky home, and for them, home was Brooklyn. So he imposed on Sam once more, the two of them packing up what few belongings he'd accumulated over the past few years and stashing them in his friend's spare room.

Steve had reached out to Stark for help in finding somewhere to stay. Not surprisingly, Miss Potts took the task on instead. In her usual efficient manner, she had three different options for him to check out on his first visit back to the city. He was pleasantly surprised that she offered to show him around herself; he figured she was much too busy as CEO of Stark Industries to have the time for him.

Steve felt very much out of place in Williamsburg. The majority of the young people were something Miss Potts called "hipsters". They looked like refugees from the Depression to Steve - wearing knit hats and scarves even during these few days of Indian summer. The dungarees several sizes too small for them and scruffy beards and moustaches on the guys just added to the whole "hobo" look, in his opinion.

Vinegar Hill was promising, even if it looked nothing like he remembered. It certainly wasn't Irishtown anymore; instead a kaleidoscope of skin tones, languages, cultures. Fulton Landing felt like it could be home, too, even if it now went by the rather silly name of Dumbo. He needed some time to think and reflect.

"Any recommendations for a hotel?" Steve asked, as Hogan handed Miss Potts into the back of the towncar. "It's a little late to head back to DC tonight."

"You know there's guest suites at the Tower - you're welcome to borrow one of them for awhile." she offered. Steve was a bit dubious. He still wasn't sure what to think of Stark; they'd gotten off on the wrong foot and he still felt a little off-balance around him. He hated the idea of oweing that man (or anyone, really) anything.

"Thanks, ma'am. But I'm not sure it's such a good idea."

"Nonsense. I know you two butted heads at the beginning, but give Tony a chance. He's not so bad; I think he could use a little company. Besides, Bruce is there already - he and Tony are collaborating on a couple of projects. Think of it as a favor to me." She fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head in an exaggerated flirt, which made Steve laugh.

"Okay, okay, I give up. Thank you. But just for a couple of days."

* * *

They read through the article that had triggered the Google Alert - "Captain America Takes a Bite of the Big Apple" There were photos of Steve in costume at a children's hospital, accompanied by a Miss Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries. The article went on to speculate that the two Avengers - Captain and Iron Man - were collaborating on a project at Avengers Tower.

"Time to make another road trip?" Barnes asked.

 _Hopefully this one will involve fewer explosions. But there is a mission I want to run once we get there..._

Barnes, masquerading as a bike courier, had just stepped away from the reception desk when the phone in his pocket buzzed. He expected it was a news alert, but the message icon showed a 1 next to it instead.

 _What the hell?_

They opened the text app and read the message.

 **Greetings, Sergeant Barnes.**

He stopped dead in his tracks, scanning the room without moving his head. It shouldn't even be possible... no one had this number, could have put two and two together so quickly.

 _We are in deep shit, sunshine._

The phone buzzed again, with another message:

 **I am JARVIS, the artificial intelligence in charge of the Tower and the safety of those who work and reside in it. As it seems you do not appear to wish harm to anyone here - I will return the favor. Forgive me for invading your privacy. Should I summon Captain Rogers?**

 _Not here... not now..._

Barnes wrote back: "Can't trust myself around him - last 2 times I saw him, the Soldier came out to play & I had to bug out. "

 **I admire your restraint. May I ask a favor before you go?**

 _What possible favor could a talking building want ?_

"What's that?"

 **Perhaps you could provide visual proof of your present condition to Captain Rogers via the camera above the exit?**

* * *

Steve had just returned to his suite after a morning workout when JARVIS addressed him. "Captain Rogers, a letter arrived for you this morning."

"This morning? I thought the mailroom took a day or two to process fan mail."

"I believe this item may be of special significance - it is being held for you at the main security desk." Steve headed down to the lobby.

The envelope was simply addressed to "Captain Steve Rogers" but the handwriting looked eerily familiar. He was walking back to the elevator, about to open the letter when his phone buzzed in his pocket. JARVIS had sent him a text. "You may wish to read that in private, Captain. I have a video clip for you to view as well." Steve shrugged, but waited until he was back in his suite.

He was glad he had waited - by the time he was done reading the letter, his hands were shaking and his eyes were wet.

"Stevie -

I saw the news about Peggy. She was a hell of a gal. I'm so sorry. I tried to come to the service" - the next line was scratched out, but if Steve squinted and held the paper just right, he could see something that looked like "Soldier" and "target" and "mission". That didn't sound good.

The letter continued:

"I'm not safe to be around you right now and don't know when I will be. In the meanwhile, I'm trying to make amends, but I can't do it by myself. You might wanna check these places out."

There was then a list of about a dozen sets of coordinates - longitude and latitude.

"Since I can't cover your six at the moment, your other pals damn well better. Tell your flying friend thanks for being a lousy shot.

I miss you, punk.

Bucky"

"JARVIS, was he really here?" Steve's voice was hoarse.

It appears so, Captain. There was a delay in processing the surveillance footage through the facial recognition program Sir set up, but I did isolate some video of the Sergeant. Would you care to review it?"

"Yes, please."

The screen showed a figure in a hooded jacket walking towards the main entrance to the Tower. Steve didn't quite recognize him at first, but then he dropped into a familiar gait, with just a touch of swagger. As the figure approached the door, he pushed the hood back from his head, looked directly up into the camera, and with a wink and a sad smile, Bucky saluted his Captain.


	4. Chapter 4

Barnes had set up alerts for the communities nearest the coordinates they'd provided to Steve, hoping that he'd be smart enough to take his team with him on any sorties. Reports of warehouse fires, unexplained explosions, and known terrorist suspects trussed up like turkeys and delivered to the doorstep of local law enforcement, were music to their ears.

 _Sounds like Stevie's keeping himself and his pals busy..._

"We haven't exactly been living the life of Riley, ourselves." They'd wreaked some havoc as well, going as far afield as Montana. James had groused about travelling to the ass end of nowhere in the middle of the winter, but it had been worth the trip, as they'd destroyed what they hoped was HYDRA's main server farm. They were both glad to get back to the city they considered home just in time for spring.

But then there was the attack on Avengers Tower... followed by a rampage in Johannesburg... chaos in Seoul... and finally Sokovia. The live coverage was unbearable to watch unfold, and the news of the aftermath was even worse. Barnes had an uneasy feeling that he'd been in that castle, during his time as the Soldier, while James claimed to have blocked most of that out. Steve had made it out alive, but they could tell within moments of the only interview he had agreed to appear in, that the experience had left him a different man. The end of the interview took them both by surprise.

"Do you have any last words before we go, Captain Rogers?"

"Yes. This is for Bucky. Check the Emerald City post - you have some mail waiting."

 _Son of a bitch... I can't believe he remembered that. Or that I do, for that matter._

James explained that one summer, he and Steve read a book about espionage during the Great War. It had described how a spy ring left messages for each other in books at a local bookstore. They had done the same, using their favorite books at the local library.

"So - where do we start looking?"

The Pacific Carnegie Library was still where it had always been, just off of Fourth Avenue. And sure enough, tucked into the middle of _Tik-Tok of Oz_ was an envelope, labeled "For Bucky".

"Buck -

I got your letter - thanks for letting me know you're okay. We've been hitting some of the sites on your list - thanks for that too. Sam says you're welcome, and you owe him a new car. And a a parachute.

I wish I understood what you were going through - and I wish I could help. You know I'll always be there for you to the end of the line.

I'm leaving the city - we've got a new site upstate. If you want to contact me, I've got a trusted friend checking in where you found this on a regular basis ... or you can just call me when you're ready to come home.

I miss you too, jerk.

Steve."

There was a phone number at the end of the letter - Barnes added it to his contact list, while James memorized it. This was followed by a very spirited discussion between the two of them, followed by several reconnaissance missions over the next several months. James had insisted in leaving Steve a reply in the meanwhile. Gossip and news blogs gave them a way to check in on him, but not vice versa. It wasn't much, but they hoped it would tide him over.

"Steve -

Message received, loud and clear. I'm working on it. Promise.

Yours,

Bucky"

They finally found a likely location, and while Barnes thought the plan was damned risky, James insisted.

"At least wait until it warms up a little - I don't want to freeze my ass while we're waiting."

 _Steve wouldn't make us wait long._

"He might not have a choice."

* * *

"Hey, Cap..." Steve knew Sam well enough by this time to recognize the note of warning in his otherwise calm voice. Sam had been suspicious from the moment Steve had gotten a text from an unknown number that simply had a set of coordinates, followed by "The stupid is ready to come home."

Steve stalked through the abandoned machine shop towards Sam's voice. Turning the corner, he saw Bucky slumped next to a large piece of equipment, his metal arm held captive.

"Buck." He looked up with a determined gaze. "Do you remember me?"

"Your mom's name is Sarah. You used to wear newspaper in your shoes." The quietly triumphant smile on Bucky's face made the past seventy years fade away to nothing, if for only a moment.

Steve looked for the control panel on the machine, but it had been destroyed by whoever had left Bucky here to suffer. When he picked up a metal pipe, Bucky shook his head.

"No... don't let me out. Gotta destroy the arm. You're not safe until it's dead."

"What do you mean, Buck?" Steve said gently, hunkering down to meet his eyes. He reached out to brush the long hair from his face, only to have his friend push his hand away.

"Stevie, the Soldier's still after you. We're fighting him, and he's weakening, but he can do a hell of a lot of damage with that arm. Don't let me outta here til it's disabled or destroyed." His voice was urgent and his eyes burned. Steve wasn't sure what to think - had Bucky done this to himself? He knew he had no idea what toll the brainwashing and electroshock procedures had taken on his friend, but this seemed an extreme action to take. And what had Bucky meant by "we're fighting him"?

Sam had caught the end of the conversation. "Okay - how do we disable it?"

Bucky shook his head. "Don't know... wait." He closed his eyes as if in concentration. "There's something back behind... on the shoulder blade. Once or twice, they did something and it turned the whole thing off. Hurt like hell..." He looked up at Steve. "I'm sorry... that's all I got."

Sam stood and stepped away, gesturing for Steve to follow.

"This would have been a lot easier a week ago." Steve couldn't argue. A lot had happened over the past seven days. Bucky's message could hardly have come at a worse time, but Steve would face the hounds of hell and worse for the chance to bring him home.

"If we call Tony..."

"Nah, he won't believe us." Sam was right. Steve had shown Tony the letter, and the footage; but he'd thought it was just some sort of HYDRA trap; and that one close call in Maine just further convinced him.

"Even if he did... "

"Who knows if the accords would let him help." What had started with the fall of SHIELD the previous year had only intensified with President Ellis' reveal of the "alien threat" and the Advanced Threat Containment Unit. The Accords were designed to help protect the American people, but so far had only succeeded in drawing a line in the sand. Tony had made his position clear; as had Steve. He was glad to have Sam on his side.

"We're on our own."

"Maybe not." After a moment, Sam continued. "I know a guy."

* * *

It was getting difficult to concentrate. Barnes had stopped the press right at the point of crushing the arm, and the biofeedback system registered the pressure as a persistent, throbbing ache. He'd smashed the control panel before either of them could reconsider their plan.

The Soldier wasn't happy either. He'd showed up not long after Steve walked into the room. James had insisted they leave all their knives behind; although it made Barnes feel naked to be unarmed. It was a wise decision, as the Soldier had reached for a blade as soon as Steve turned his back.

 _Asshole. We gotta get rid of this guy. And soon._

They watched Steve in whispered conference with his flying pal... Sam Wilson, that was his name. James felt a brief stab of jealousy, immediately regretting it. Of course Steve had made friends since he'd been brought back, rescued from the ice. This guy... Wilson... he'd had Steve's back there on the helicarrier. So he'd have to deal with the envy, knowing his friend had only ever chosen a precious few worth his time and trust.

Steve had found a folding chair somewhere; he sat, their knees nearly touching, and passed over a bottle of water. Barnes took a few slow sips. "Sam knows someone he thinks can help - he's going to make a few calls, What happened, after you pulled me out of the Potomac?"

"Went to ground - found a safe house and fixed myself up. Tried to go back to base, but it was compromised. Same with the Mission Head's house."

"Mission Head... do you mean Alexander Pierce, Bucky?"

He shrugged. "Didn't know his name. Wasn't something the Soldier needed." He paused, remembering the briefing in the Mission Head's kitchen. "He shot her for no reason, Steve." That image had stayed with him; it was his first clue that maybe he wasn't on the right side after all, no matter what his handlers had said. He dropped his head, unable to look Steve in the eye. "He sent me to find you. To kill you. And I damn near did."

"But you didn't. Then what, Bucky?"

"Went to the museum and saw your exhibit. Saw... us, the Commandos. Started remembering stuff." That brought a smile, small and sad though it was.

"What else do you remember?"

"You were scrawny, and sick a lot. But stubborn, goddamned stubborn. You hated bullies and never stood down from a fight. I remember... sitting in the bleachers at a Dodgers game. Doing odd jobs at the corner grocery for apples. Sitting on the fire escape, drinking beer on a summer night."

"What else, Buck? How about Peggy, Peggy Carter?

 _Sharp as hell, a terror on the firing range and an absolute knockout in that red dress._

"English gal, with the SSR? I remember a little. She was a peach, but never even gave me the time of day - she was sweet on you. Didja finally try your luck with her, Stevie?."

"Not really. I waited too long." A distant look on his face, he went to reach for something in his left front pocket.

 _Steve kept her picture in his compass... always carried it in that pocket._

But instead he pulled out his phone and read something on the screen. "It's Sam. Good news, the guy - Lang's his name - agreed to help. Bad news, he can't get here until tomorrow morning at the earliest." His phone buzzed with a second message. "Sam went to get some supplies - looks like we're sleeping rough tonight. "

"You and Wilson don't have to stay - I'll be alright." It didn't seem right to ask anything more from them. The fact that they'd come for him at all was a miracle. Barnes gestured toward the machine. "It's not like I'm going anywhere." That actually got a bit of a laugh from Steve.

"Not a chance, jerk. Not letting you out of my sight again, even if you are pinned down at the moment."

They heard a car pull up, just outside the building. Steve sprang to his feet and was running for his shield, while the Soldier searched for anything within reach to use as a weapon.

"It's just me, guys... sorry - shoulda let you know I was coming. My bad." Wilson stepped into the room, arms laden with bags. "There's more stuff out in the car."

"Sam - you almost got a shield right between the eyes. And your timing stinks on ice." Steve grumbled, but James and Barnes were both too focused on getting the Soldier back in line to pay much attention to anything else for several minutes.

 _Huh - kinda felt like if the Soldier was gonna fight alongside Steve, not against him. Maybe he's starting to come around, too._

In the meanwhile, Wilson had pulled together a makeshift table and were setting out containers of food. "Wasn't sure what you liked, Barnes, so I got a bunch of simple stuff to share - egg drop soup, chicken fried rice and beef and broccoli."

"Soup. Please." The throb of the arm and the adrenalin rush had left them feeling overwhelmed, and conversation was a struggle. Barnes held the container close to his chest, enjoying its warmth while sipping it slowly. Watching the two men eat and listening to their easy banter - just for a moment, he was with the Commandos again, celebrating after a successful raid. James realized this was perhaps the first memory from the war that he actually didn't mind remembering.

"Buck, you need more than that. Here." Steve held out a chunk of meat between chopsticks. He leaned forward and took a bite... not bad. Steve then moved closer and proceeded to share the rest of his meal. Barnes was vaguely embarrassed at first, until James reminded him how often they'd helped Steve with a bowl of soup or oatmeal when he was feeling poorly.

Wilson was talking about how he'd found out about this Lang character. James had a feeling they weren't hearing the entire story, but secrets and surprises were apparently nothing new for any of them nowadays.

"Ok - I get that the master's degree in electrical engineering is gonna help us, but you said he's got other special skills... like what?" He recognized the note of irritation in Steve's voice.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Rogers. Wait and see."

"And how do we know we can trust him?"

"Fair question, but from what I've heard, he's our kinda man. Does what's right, even if it's not exactly legal." Finished with his meal, Wilson rose easily to his feet. "I'm gonna start setting up camp."

Wilson had planned well - a propane heater and gas lantern, sleeping bags and air mattresses. Steve and Wilson scrounged several crates and cardboard boxes to assemble a rough semi-reclining platform next to the machine for him, topped with a partially-inflated air mattress.

 _I've slept worse places. At least this is dry and doesn't smell like a cow pasture._

Barnes thought the comment was worth repeating to a larger audience, and they seemed to appreciate both the humor and his return to the conversation, as he hadn't spoken a word since asking for the soup. However, once the sun set, Wilson seemed on edge again. He waved Steve over for another conference. While he couldn't catch what he said, Steve's reply was loud and clear.

"Bucky wouldn't lead us into a trap! You want someone to stand guard? Fine, I'll take first watch." Steve grabbed his jacket and shield and stalked out of the building.

Wilson, looking sheepish, came back over to the circle lit by the lantern. "All I said was maybe we need to keep an eye out for the dudes we've been after for the better part of the last year. I didn't mean it the way he took it. I'm sorry. " He sighed, kicking at a bit of trash. "I admit, I wasn't sure this trip was going to be worth it - no offense. But when Rogers puts his mind to something, you just can't stop him. He's a big old mountain of stubborn."

"Imagine all that attitude in a package half the size." Barnes paused, realizing this was the first time he'd spoken directly to Wilson since they'd officially met. "And for the record, this place has nothing to do with HYDRA." He stumbled a bit over the last word.

Wilson nodded. "Good to know. So - how long have you been pulling Rogers' ass out of the fire?"

"Since practically forever. He and his ma lived down the street. Made him move in with me when she died. How about you?"

"He was running rings around me out at the National Mall and stopped for a chat. I told him I worked at the VA as a counselor, and he swung by. Next thing I know, he and Romanov - the redhead from the overpass, remember her?"

"Yeah... she okay?" She had been a threat, an obstacle to completing the mission, so the Soldier had shot her. But James had done what he could to make sure it wasn't a kill shot.

 _I never hit a lady - and I wasn't happy about shooting one, either - tried to make my feelings known. Wish I'd had that power on other missions._

"Yeah - you just winged her. She healed up fine. Anyway, the two of them show up at my front door on the run. That's pretty much when the shit hit the fan."

"And you stuck around through the shit storm." He hadn't realized the depth of Wilson's loyalty to a man he hardly knew.

"Hell yeah - he's Captain freaking America. And he needed someone watching his six... but I guess you got that covered now."

Barnes gestured to his captive arm. "Not quite ... and maybe not for awhile. Besides, we're talking Steve here - plenty of stupid to go around."

Wilson laughed. "Ain't that the truth!" He then sobered. "Finding out you were still around changed him, Barnes. Tore him up when he read what they'd done to you."

 _Wait, what? No... Steve can't find out what they did - how much blood is on my hands..._

"What do you mean, Wilson?" Barnes spoke slowly, hiding his rising panic.

"Romanov has Russian connections. She was able to scare up some files on the Winter Soldier project. She was trying to help. Sounds like you think otherwise."

"Yeah - not stuff he needed to know."

 _Ain't that a goddamned understatement._

Barnes felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, and Wilson must have sensed it, as he stretched and yawned theatrically. "Well, I'm beat. Can I get you anything before I turn in, Barnes?"

"I'm good, thanks." He pulled the sleeping bag up around his shoulders - zipping it up had felt too restrictive, so it was laid out flat instead.

 _We are so far from good, Wilson... you have no idea._


	5. Chapter 5

It was oh-two-thirty and Steve had to admit he was tired. And cold; his flare of anger had burned out hours ago. He'd dragged Sam along on this wild goose chase for months, and this is was how he thanked the man? You're better than that, Rogers, he thought. Time to head back inside to warm up a little.

He quietly woke Sam, who mumbled complaints, but headed outside to take over the watch. In the dim light of the propane heater, Steve saw that Bucky had kicked off the blankets in a restless sleep. He heard quiet muttering (some words in English, some not) then a whimper, a wordless moan. You weren't supposed to wake someone in the middle of a nightmare, but he couldn't bear to let his friend suffer a moment more.

"Hey, Bucky... it's okay. It's just a dream. C'mon... wake up for me. I'm here, it's Steve." He crouched down, speaking quietly and resting a hand on his good shoulder. Bucky startled awake, his look of terror and confusion a match for their last moments on the helicarrier. When he lashed out, Steve took the blow without moving away. He watched as Bucky then folded into himself, wrapping his free arm around his body. He still seemed lost and afraid, but his ragged breathing started to even out.

" 'M cold, Stevie." He sounded no older than the day they had met, and God, how that hurt.

"Here, sit up for a sec." Picking up the discarded bedding, he tucked it around Bucky, then sat down, sliding between the improvised recliner and him, pulling his shivering friend against his chest.

"You used to do this for me, Buck. When I couldn't breathe right and it was easier to sleep sitting up. You kept me warm. You always took such good care of me. Let me finally return the favor.' They sat in silence for a few moments. "Come back with me, Buck. I've got a nice place, upstate. There's fruit trees in the yard. You missed seeing them bloom, but I bet we can make pies or applesauce in the fall."

"I'm not your Bucky any more, Steve. I'm sorry. I can try, but I know I'll never get it right. Wilson said you read about the Soldier - what they did. What I did. I'm damaged goods and nothing but trouble. No silver slippers for me - can't ever go home." Steve was shocked at the bitterness he heard. He moved so he could face his friend, look at him in the eye.

"You've always been trouble, Buck... and I'm not giving up. You know me better than that," he fiercely replied. "One step at a time. We get you out of here, get you somewhere safe. Sam knows people who can help you adjust, recover. We can find lawyers to argue the whole "brainwashed prisoner of war" angle. And you aren't the only one who's changed. I'm not the scrawny punk you knew back in Brooklyn."

Bucky snorted in dark amusement. "You're still one stubborn pain in the ass, Rogers, you know that?"

"And you're stuck with me. I didn't chase you around the country to give up this easily."

They heard the door open and Sam stuck his head back in. "I'm heading out to the airport to pick up Lang. Anything you can pass along to bring him up to speed? " Bucky suggested Wilson take some photos of the access panel on his shoulder blade.

"I hope this makes more sense to Lang than it does to me." Steve said, holding the flashlight. "Just looks like a tangle of wires." He tried hard not to think about what this goddamned hunk of machinery represented. Not just the loss of Bucky's physical arm, but the loss of so much more. Steve remembered feeling as if a vital part of himself had been torn away when Bucky fell from the train, leaving a ragged empty hole.

The wound had begun to scab over as he had started a new life in the 21st century; only to be ripped wide open when the Soldier's mask was torn from Bucky's face. He may have changed in many ways beyond the physical, but Steve was sure that the core of James Buchanan Barnes was intact.

"Earth to Rogers, come in Rogers." Wilson's voice brought him back from his reverie.

"Yeah.. sorry, Sam."

"I was saying I gotta go. There's a box of donuts in the bag over there, along with instant coffee. There's only about 2 cups' worth left in the thermos and you both look like that ain't near enough. There's a saucepan in the bag as well - I'm sure you can rig something up."

And they did - using some spare wire to secure the pan over the heater. Bucky joked that if his arm were free, he could just hold the pan until the water boiled.

"If that were the case, we'd already be on our way back to DC... or New York. Anywhere other than this godforsaken place." He saw a hurt look flash across Bucky's face. He hadn't meant it to sound so harsh. "Sorry - I know you felt this was the only safe way to reach out. I guess I don't understand."

"I hope you never do, Steve." And now it was Bucky with the harsh words. But he had a point. They finished the donuts and god-awful coffee in silence.

* * *

 _Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you and drugs cause cramp. Guns aren't lawful; nooses give; gas smells awful; you might as well live. Miss Parker sure had a way with words._

Barnes knew this was just James' dark sense of humour, but It wasn't the first time that idea of taking the final exit had come up. There had been hours of waking nightmares over the past several months. First just brief flashes of missions, then full installments, recorded in perfect clarity. It wasn't even the actual acts of murder that so horrified him; it was the satisfaction he remembered feeling on completing a mission; on following his handler's orders.

The time between Peggy's funeral and discovering Steve was in New York had been the worst.

After they fled the cemetery, It had taken the better part of a day before James spoke again. Barnes had thought he'd lost his companion for good, and he couldn't bear the thought of being alone. He had gotten as far as pulling the pin from a grenade while sitting in the dusty wreck of a warehouse. But there had been a cat, small and scrawny, warily watching from the shadows.

 _It would have been a sin to have taken that life as well._

He knew he should give thanks for how far he'd come; the blessing of having Steve back in his life. But not like this; the plan had been a terrible mistake. The Soldier might well just be playing a waiting game, and he would wake up with Steve's blood on his hands again. He was exhausted, so tired of fighting, of being afraid. He burrowed back into the blankets as best he could to try to shut out the world.

"You okay, Buck?"

He was too tired to care, to spare his feelings. "No. It hurts, Steve. Everything hurts."

"Almost there, Buck. We'll get you out of here, get you safe and warm. Take you home." He started humming a tune that was deeply familiar. "I bought you this record for Christmas, Buck. We borrowed Mr. Steinman's wind-up Victrola and listened to it again and again."

" 'And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.' I want to believe that Steve, I really do. But I don't think I deserve it."

* * *

Steve remembered Bucky's black moods all too well. He'd had them since they were kids; where would withdraw into himself, answering any queries with either silence or sarcasm. It wasn't any surprise that everything that had happened over the past three-quarters of a century only made those black moods darker and deeper. In the past, a long walk or a couple of rounds in the boxing ring would be enough to set Bucky to rights, but neither of those were an option right now.

He watched over Bucky as he fell into a fitful sleep; moving only when his phone buzzed with a text from Sam.

 **On our way back - what is it about engineers being blabbermouths? ETA about 30 min**

So, another half-hour to rest - better than nothing. He let his eyelids droop briefly; only to snap open when he heard the crunch of gravel outside. Another text arrived at the same time.

 **Sam says to tell you it's just us chickens, whatever that means.**

He sent back a thumbs up emoji, then stepped outside, and a few moments later, Sam was introducing Lang. Despite being perhaps in his late thirties, he seemed giddy as a teenage girl to be meeting Captain America. He let the man gush for a moment, smiling and nodding, well used to this reaction. Before it got too embarrassing, Sam broke in. "So, you saw the pictures, Lang - think you can help us out?"

Lang blinked. "Uh yeah... and I've been shaking your hand way too long, Captain Rogers, haven't I?"

"Call me Steve. Let me go check on Bucky." As he stepped away, he heard Lang say "Thinks for thanking of me! I mean, thanks for thinking of me."

"Hey, Buck..." He knelt down next to his friend, reaching out to wake him. He startled, then rubbed his eyes, looking a decade younger for a moment. "Lang's here. You ready?" Despite Bucky's nod and mumbled reply, Steve could tell that no, he wasn't ready, but he knew they had no choice. He heard the other men walk in the room.

"Lang, this is Bucky... James Barnes. As you can see, he's in a bit of a tight spot. Buck, this is Scott Lang. He's going to fix things so we can get the hell out of here."

"Okay - well, Mr. Barnes - apparently there's some sort of access panel on the back of the prosthetic, right? Can I take a look?"

"Sure, but Mr. Barnes was my dad. Call me Bucky." Steve knew he was putting on a good face in front of this stranger.

"Okay - then I'm Scott."

They shifted the boxes and crates so he could take a look at Bucky's shoulder. He had to cut away part of the shirt, and Steve saw for the first time the cruel scarring where flesh met metal. Scott had brought tools with him and was soon engrossed in his explorations.

Bucky was holding up well, all things considered. Steve hadn't thought to ask how long he'd been trapped in the machine before he and Sam arrived, but he wouldn't be surprised if he was going on over twenty-four hours of captivity. Steve knew he'd been in similar spots during sniper missions in the War; waiting for hours in cramped, cold conditions. And he'd probably faced even worse during his years (so many goddamned years) as the Soldier.

"So - I've found what looks to be the switch, but I want to take a closer look. I'll be right back." Scott stood, grabbed the duffle he'd brought with him and left the room. Steve shot Sam a questioning look, but Sam just shrugged again, then pulled out a six-pack of familiar-looking glass bottles.

"Picked up some Coca-Colas - figured they might hit the spot right around now." He opened the bottles and passed them over. "They're kosher - made with sugar instead of corn syrup." Sam had seen the face Steve made the last time he tried a modern soda. But this one was good, really good. And he could use the caffeine and sugar right now. Bucky had downed his already, and was reaching for another.

Lang came back in the room, dressed in a red, silver and black costume that looked vaguely similar to his own Captain America outfit, but more futuristic. He gave Steve an earpiece, then donned an odd-looking helmet. "Can you hear me okay, Cap... er... Steve?" he asked.

"Yeah, Scott - loud and clear. What's this all about?"

"Wilson didn't tell you?" He sounded surprised.

"Nope - said I wouldn't believe it til I saw it." Steve's interest was piqued, but they had a job to finish. "How is that getup of yours going to help Bucky?"

"I'm going to shrink down and take a look around inside his arm - see if I can figure out how the biofeedback system works so I can deactivate the arm without the associated pain."

"You're going to do what?" Steve's shocked tone must have spooked Bucky, as his eyes suddenly too big for his face. "Sorry, Buck - it's okay. He just... well... apparently things are gonna get a little strange here in a moment."

"Welcome to my world, punk." Sarcasm was always one of Bucky's defense mechanisms; and Steve could tell how close to the end of his rope he was.

"Okay, Scott - do whatever you gotta do to get things done." Steve sighed... and Lang disappeared.

* * *

 _We've finally cracked the hell up. That's the only explanation. We have gone fucking nuts._

But Wilson hadn't batted an eye, and Steve seemed only a little shaken when the new guy, Lang, had disappeared.

"Steve, what the hell just happened?" It came out surprisingly steady; considering how he felt inside.

Wilson spoke up. "The suit that Scott's wearing allows him to shrink down to about so big." He held out his hand, index finger and thumb about a quarter of an inch apart. "And believe it or not, that's not the weirdest thing he can do."

Steve added, "He's going inside your arm to try to figure out how to make it not hurt when we switch it off." He cocked his head to the side he wore the comm link on. "He says he'll try not to disturb anything, at least at first." He could hear a soft murmur from the earpiece Steve wore. Lang was apparently providing a running commentary as he explored the inside of the arm.

 _Ugh - kinda gives me the creeps just thinking about it - what if he all of a sudden un-shrinks?_

The minutes ticked by and Wilson busied himself by packing up their camping supplies. Suddenly, Barnes gasped as the dull throb he'd almost gotten used to suddenly flared to a searing agony. Steve startled at that, saying "Scott, what the hell did you just do?" The pain then subsided back to its original level almost as quickly.

"S'ok Steve - it's better now - back to where it was." he said, breathing a bit heavily.

"Scott said he's sorry - he wasn't sure he was in the right place. He's going to try to re-route the pathways, whatever that means." Barnes wasn't sure either; no one had ever bothered to explain how the mechanical monstrosity they'd chained him to actually worked, beyond teaching him a few basic repairs he could do in the field.

His arm suddenly felt hot, like a sunburn; then cold, as if he'd just walked out into a snowstorm. It itched intensely for a few agonizing moments... and then the pain was gone. Completely gone. He nearly wept in relief.

"Hot damn. He did it, Stevie. It doesn't hurt anymore." Steve's face lit up, as he said to Lang, "Whatever you did, Scott - it was right. Bucky said the pain is gone, totally gone. Think you can deactivate it now, so we can get the hell out of here?"

After a few minutes, Lang must've found the right switches to flip, because his hand froze in mid-clench, and the arm felt heavy and numb. "Tell him he's got it. The arm is dead. We're done here."

It wasn't quite as simple as that. Lang had to find his way back out, then unshrink. That was somehow even more unsettling, seeing him appear out of nowhere. And even though Steve made short work of the machine, prying the press plates apart with the help of a steel bar, he could barely stand, after having been stuck in basically the same position for the better part of a day and a half.

 _Take it easy - let him help you. We're almost done - time to rest._

Leaning heavily on Steve, he made it out to the car, sliding into the back seat. Thanks to Wilson, they were on their way quickly enough.

* * *

"Thank you, Scott. I can't even tell you how much your help has meant." Steve was well aware that his assistance had not necessarily been in the man's own best interest. With the shrinking suit, he was as accountable to the Accords as Stark or Rhodes or Sam. And then there was the whole "aiding and abetting a fugitive" situation which would apply to anyone, enhanced or otherwise.

"No problem, sir, er. Steve. Glad I could help out. So, what happens next?"

"Hell if I know. I wish this whole mess would just go away." It had all happened so quickly, and was likely to get worse before it got better.

"I hear ya, Steve. Scott, you staying the night here, or catching a flight back home tonight?" Wilson spoke up, ever the practical one.

"I'm taking a late flight back - technically I'm still on probation, but Hope said she'd cover for me if necessary." Scott paused for a moment, as if in thought. "You know, I'm still not quite sure why we had to deactivate Bucky's arm."

"He's afraid the Soldier part of him still sees me as a target," he responded.

"Well, that would complicate things." Scott replied dryly. "I'll give you some notes on how to reactivate the arm once he's ready." He continued after a moment. "Listen, if you need a place to lay low for awhile, I bet Pym would be willing to help - he's got a cabin out in the middle of the redwoods. Let me give him a call."

Only half-listening to the conversation, Steve dozed until they pulled into a diner parking lot.

"Think we should wake Sleeping Beauty, Steve?" Sam asked.

"No, he needs the rest. Get me a few burgers and maybe some chicken noodle soup or something for Bucky." Sam nodded, and he and Scott went into the diner.

"The redwoods... that means California, doesn't it?" Bucky's voice was fuzzy with sleep.

"Since you heard that, I assume you got the rest of the conversation, too." Steve replied. "What do you think about heading out to the west coast for awhile? At least til everything blows over."

"Suits me fine. Maybe take that train trip we always talked about; can't exactly drive with my busted arm. They still have Pullman cars?"

"Don't know - but we'll figure something out. We always do."


End file.
